By Louis C. Simon
In the late 50's and early 60's, it was all about staying one step ahead of the bookie at the horse races, and this included Al Bozzi and his crew. You see... "The big Score" is essentially about the real life story of Al Bozzi, a real live rogue gambler from East Boston.
Al was instilled from an early age, with ethos to treat gambling as a kind of Zen Chess with real horses. The discipline is ultimately as corrupting as corrupt. That is not to say that it doesn't have a certain inner logic. Al and his crew practice a gambling cult, lifestyle that sacrifices everything--family, security, money, life--in pursuit of the mythical monster, GOD. Unlike Al, his wife Angie, is either brilliantly conniving, a cold blooded shrew or she's an angel. that depends on what day you talk to Al.
When Bo and his partner Rico were in business of beating bookmakers, they had to find a way they could get results right on the second while they were running, directly from the track and inside of a building, so that they could bet on the winners after the race was over. And no matter how many times they hit a legit winner, it always ended up that the bookmaker would clean them out.
Now, Bo and Rico had a plan that would give them a little edge. They wanted to bet on winners with positively no chance of losing. But of course, there was always a certain amount of risk, especially if you were caught red-handed by the bookmaker or the big boys who ran the home office. Then...if you were lucky, instead of having everybody wondering if you got kidnapped by aliens, your next of kin would identify your body at the morgue.
So, Bo and Rico got lucky and found a genius in Manhattan who made all this sophisticated equipment that was used just for the purpose of wire tapping and transmitting electric shock waves through the air into a gadget strapped to the body. Bo and Rico quickly put together a grand and off they went to see Manny Littleman to buy this past posting wireless gimmick.
When it came to making this stuff, Manny was the greatest in the country. The gimmick was stored in a small suitcase and inside was three wet cell batteries. On top was a pull-up antenna. Next to it was an ON and OFF switch, and a small press-down gadget. This suitcase was the transmitter that worked like Morse code. Long presses were "fives" and short presses were "ones."
The other part of the equipment was a receiver. An aluminum package, the size of a pack of butts. The gadget had two wires about 12" long and on each end of each wire was soldered by a U.S. dime that received the race results on the second of the race results. Now, after all this...the gadget would be strapped snuggly in Bo's jock strap and the two dimes were place on the inside of his crotch, attached very tightly with adhesive tape.
Meanwhile, Rico would be about 500 feet away at a telephone, as they set up in the building. Bo got in a good size bet on a winner, on top of post and many times if the weather was bad as some tracks, they would run four or five minutes before the regular track post time. These extra few minutes would give them more than an edge. This was their game...their winning ticket...their life.
After many years of losing...they thought this was the only way to play the horses. Illegit that is!
Whenever, anyone found an easy spot to beat, they would call us (Bo and Rico). They made their headquarters in the 100 to 1 Club on Boyleston Street, in Boston, a few doors down was Specs O'Keefe's lounge. Specs, as Bo recalls...was one of the brinks robbers who flipped and sent the boys to the can (but that's another story).
The club at the time was a hang-out joint where six phones were conveniently placed just in case they had to past post a lax bookie, who took bets on his, won without shutting you off right on post time. Sometimes, when luck was on your side, you could always sneak in a $10 or $20 buck bet.
Then, there was their good friend Boomer, was the bartender at the joint. Any calls Rico and Bo would get, came through Boomer, and a $20 spot guarantee that Bo and Rico got their messages. Good 'ol Boomer was an ex pug, who took so many punches. Ever time he spoke, you thought he was drunk, slurring his words. But after awhile, the slurring didn't bother us and believe it or not, we actually understood him.
One day, Bo and Rico received a message from one of their friends, Hymie Shapiro, a nice fella, a traveling salesman, but considered a loser in every way. Hymie traveled all over New England and New York selling ladies apparel and made heavy bread; about seventy to eighty grad or so every year, and losing half of it betting with the bookies. In those days, you had two chances, slim and none. The bookmakers all had nice caddy's, summer homes, and took off for Florida in the winter. It hasn't changed today. It's still the same.
As for Hymie, he too, was looking for a score, but being a loser, it was hard to trust him. But, every once in a while, Hymie would find a club or bar whereas bookmaker was lax, and he would give Bo a call. This is what Bo called a set up or arrangement. Even though Bo was uneasy with Hymie, he listened to his rattling on about this place in Albany, New York. Whenever Hymie believed he could beat the bookies and that he might have a chance to operate with Bo and Rico, he got nervous. Beating a bookie out of a few thousand bucks, got him excited.
Bo finally got Hymie to talk about this place in Albany. It was a Greek Club, classy joint, bodyguards, food, drinks, and a plenty of big betting. Smelling the potential of large case, Bo and Rico take the trip as hymie sets up the hotel room.
With the gimmick in the trunk of the car and $1500 in their wallet, Bo and Rico take the ride to new York and meet Hymie in the hotel. At their arrival, it's business as usual...Bo and Rico case the joint, making sure there's no booby traps. "Nice brick buildings, no windows, but they were not worried because those shock waves go through everything," says Bo. Bo saw three phones, making sure they're in working order and have plenty of cooper plugs, so that he and Rico could use 'em on long distance calls. "You picked a good spot."
Now, inside the hotel room, Bo and Rico gotta make sure the "gimmicks" are in good working order. Bo is all wired up, Rico shoots Bo two numbers...they come through okay, but were a wee bit weak. "That's okay, all we have to do is charge the wet cell batteries with our charger that plugs into the suitcase transmitter," says Bo. After traveling and playing FBI, all Rico wants to do is watch TV. "So, I tell Rico to make sure he pulls out the chargers after three hours otherwise it becomes too powerful," says Bo with a stern voice. Now that everybody understands the deal, they head their separate ways.
The following morning, Bo gets all cleaned up by shaving the groin near his crotch, to get all wired up. Reason being? So the dimes don't stick to the hair. A nice snug jock strap is put on, to hold the small pack receiver and finally, the wires are tightly taped. There...nobody would ever know Bo had anything in there unless he had his pants off. Bo could hardly feel it. Of course, when Bo got those shocks, unless you were used to it, a normal jolt would make you jump in the air. The gimmick had to be charged just so much that when the three red balls that were in the wet cell batteries reached the green water line, you knew it was perfect. That was Rico's job.
About 1:30 p.m. Bo and Hymie leave Rico back at the drugstore. Bo and Hymie had already planned what they were going to hit at the races and at 3:30 p.m. they would hit two races at the same time. The got the bookmaker all set up in a few earlier races by betting a few hundred apiece on each race. Figuring they'd lose six or seven hundred and bingo...then they would hit him good with a big score, you know just to make it look legit.
Hymie would win a few and Bo, of course, loses. Bo and Hymie cross the street on their way to the joint, and Hymie presses the secret button on the sidewall. About a minute later the door opens. "Boy! This big pimply-faced, crooked nose goon, about 6'3" greets us," said Bo. "Hey ya Hymie, how are ya? Who's your friend?" says the goon. "Ah-Patch, this is Bo, ah-he's a friend of mine," said Hymie. The goon looked at Bo for a few seconds, kinda sizing him up like he was trying to decide to kill him or give him the green light. Bo was given the green light.
Inside, there was about a dozen big round card tables plus one long table with all kinds of food: stuffed peppers, stuffed grape leaves, roast beef, all kinds of cold cuts, pita and nice crisp French bread, all kinds of drinks, cold beer, and plenty of coffee brewing. In the far corner was the main man, the Bookie that Bo was here to beat. He sat at this huge desk, surrounded by a wooded petition, looking at everyone in the club through this glass see through, where you had to place your bets.
Now, one main reason Bo and Hymie were there was because Hymie had found out you could play on post or even a few minutes after. Once inside the club, they know that it's impossible for anyone to know the results of any race.
On a 2:30 p.m. race they place some straight bets, four hundred set up bets right on top of post. "We didn't give a shit how we bet cause we knew later on we were gonna burn him good," said Bo. Bo lays down four bucks, and the guy gives him the slip. The race goes off, and both Bo and Hymie lose, and they're out four bucks. Now comes the 3:00 p.m. race, they lay another three bucks down. They lose again, and are now out seven bucks, but they're all ready. When you're testing a bookie, you never get lucky--whatever you pick, you just happen to lose. It's all part of the sleight of hand magic of the score. You lose a couple of times over and over again.
It was 3:25 p.m. Bo was looking at his watch, trying to relax, cause he's getting ready for the big long "they're off" shock he's gonna get. Hymie was looking the other way, smoking one but after another. Suddenly, as Bo was in his halfway relaxed state of mind, he began to get this burning shock in the middle of his groin. "Believe me when I tell ya, I thought my balls was on fire," says Bo. At the exact time it hit Bo, he fell out of his chair, on his ass, and under the table.
Hymie took one look at Bo, as if to say, "You'd think his dick got burnt." "What happened?" asked Hymie. "That fuckin Rico," was all Bo could say cause Rico was shooting Bo the two results and he's wiggling in pain around, under the table. Now, by this time, the Greeks are looking over, and Bo can see Patch walking over. Bo is panicking, "Hymie for the lov a Christ, I'm gasping and can hardly breath, and may never breath again, if Rico don't let up." Rico is continuing to shoot Bo the results over and over again, and Bo can't make out one number.
"What's the matter with your pal, Hymie?" Asked the pimply-faced goon, leaning over Bo. One the ground Bo, notices this big rod sticking out of his coast there. He figured he's gonna die. As Bo is laying there going mentally insane, what does Hymie do? he looked up at the bone crusher and said, "Epilepsy--Epileperosy." To look at Patch, you'd a thought Rico was "shocking" him. Patch jumps about a yard and backed-off quick crossing himself backwards and saying something that sounded like a Greek dog praying.
But, Hymie wasn't done. He had the balls to lean back over Bo and whisper, "What's ah-the numbers?" Bo thought Hymie went mentally insane. Since then, Bo wondered over and over again about that day. The trickery, the variables, and so forth, even the fuckin luck. Nothing, nothing explains it. Shit things happen. That's all. Anyhow, the shocks were over, but Bo's crotch felt like it was melting through his pants and Hymie still was in his face whining in whisper, "The numbers, Bo! What's the numbers?"
Thinking quickly, Bo figures he gotta get outta here before he gets killed or he kills Hymie, one or the other. So, what comes to mind, but the sex joke 6...9. So, Bo says, 6..9, just to get Hymie off his back. Hymie gone quicken shit and runs off. All of a sudden, the table bottom Bo had been looking at, lifts up and he sees pimple puss and another bruiser looking down on him, like he imagined they will at his wake in a couple of days - kinda sad like and curious. Bo thought, "Holy shit, I'm fucking dead!" And, at the same time, Patch mentions to his pals, to unbuckle his belt, to allow Bo to breathe a little easier.
Fearing absolute danger, Bo real quick-like says, "No! No! Please just get back in a chair, get me a cab." Trying hard to get outta there, he looked around for Hymie and saw that crazy screwball coming back from the window with the screwball, smiley frown look all bad rogue gamblers get when they figure they got a great score coming . The bruiser boys leave. Hymie picks up Bo by the armpits and walked him through the corridor. Back at the hotel room, Bo had no mercy for Rico. "Why you fuckin asshole, you charged that box. You musta fell asleep and you overcharged us outta seven grand, plus you almost got us fuckin killed."
Meanwhile, Hymie is just sittin there real calm-like and smiles, "Don't get ah-upset." A few minutes later, Bo returns and found Rico and Hymie laughing their asses off, rolling on the floor. Bo started to head to Rico, as if to kill him. But, Hymie came running up. "No, Bo! No! Settle down will ya, it's okay, ah no shit. We won!"
"Now, I've gambled every which way any illegitimate man could gamble making scores after scores and losing it back. My life was sleeping and eating with all kinda crooked jockey's drugging horses, fixing races, past posting bookies, buying electronic equipment so I could get fast results. And the windup is I'm getting fried on a floor at the Greeks, and the two numbers I make up to get Hymie outta my face, 6 and 9, they come in and we make thousands and thousands of dollars. it's enough to make me mentally insane," said Bo.
About two weeks later, after Bo collected the money and all, he got another call from hymie. It was another setup from QUINCY this time. Bo told Hymie no. He had to give up what he was doing, because one more episode like that one, and he'd have a heart attack.
If you are finished looking through this section of the Livewire web site, and would like to see other parts of this web site. Click below to return to the Livewire Background Page
If you have any questions about, or any suggestions for this website, please feel free to contact us at info@taketwoentertainment.net